


Field Agents

by Lunasong365, sous_le_saule



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'Human' resources, Employment, Gen, Translation, field agents, first steps on Earth, well rather angelic and demonic resources
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sous_le_saule/pseuds/sous_le_saule
Summary: How did ‘Human’ Resources (both Demonic and Angelic) recruit Crawly and Aziraphale to be field agents? Is it a coincidence that they both found themselves back on Earth after leaving the Garden of Eden?





	1. Recruitment

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Agents de terrain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219329) by [sous_le_saule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sous_le_saule/pseuds/sous_le_saule). 



> Translator's note: I am pleased to present (per request of a fan) this translation from French of _Agents de terrain_ by sous_le_saule.
> 
> Author's note: as usual, Luna did a wonderful job and I thank her (and the person who asked for it :))

A deafening hubbub reverberated off the walls of the large conference room. Without exception, every demon of Hell had been summoned, and no one seemed to know why. The more powerful demons seated themselves directly in front of the stage. Each was imposing and had in common an undeniable ability to instill fear. The varied forms of these demons imperiously displayed their impressive wingspans and dangerously sharp horns. They periodically looked around with glares of defiance or mistrust. As the inferior demons who crowded the back of the room observed their menacing grins or arrogant smirks, they took yet another step backward.

Among them, a long snake with glistening black scales hissed as a cluster of nervous demons stepped on him. Exasperated, he slipped smoothly through the hooves, claws, and various other forms of feet toward the stage. Why had they all chosen a form that walked? It was so vulgar. Their lumbering paces would never match the grace with which a serpent moved.

Once free of the crowd, the lithe demon circled around, drew near to the stage, and settled down close to the Dukes to see better. He took care to make himself inconspicuous, as nothing in the Underworld was as important as hierarchy. If any of his superiors had seen him there, they would have undoubtedly chewed him out at length about knowing his place. Especially Hastur, who’d been giving him a hard time ever since the snake had returned from his mission in the Garden of Eden. He was certain he had not received the high rank deserving of his success because Hastur had somehow interfered. The latter did not look favorably upon his subordinate. What was he afraid of? That the lesser demon aspired for his title and would attempt to undermine his position?

It was pure paranoia on Hastur’s part. The serpent had no ambition to become a Duke of Hell. To spend his days forever watching his back in fear of being overthrown and constantly scheming to achieve even more power? No thank you. He preferred to find a warm – which wasn’t difficult – and quiet – which _was_ more difficult – corner in which to snooze the time away. He’d already seen everything there was to see in Hell. It had proven to be much less interesting than he’d been led to believe. It was quite disappointing, to say the least. And there was no more freedom to do what one wanted here than in Heaven. It was true that here, at least, one could question and criticize the Ineffable Plan. But in the end, on either side of the chessboard, one had to obey orders. He’d just exchanged tedious boredom and the insipid celestial chorus for eternal anguish and constant threats. He’d discovered that curling up in a coil in a discreet corner was the best way to escape.

Beelzebub finally made a grand entrance and looked over them from the height of the stage. A deferential but speculative silence fell over the room. The announcement was sure to be important. The snake quivered with excitement at the idea of something, _anything,_ that would break up the monotony of this place.

Beelzebub addressed the crowd in his buzzing voice. “Azzz you all know, Operation Adam-and-Eve was a rous-zzzing success.”

The serpent swelled with pride.

“Now that we have succeeded in driving them out of that earthly paradise-zzz…”

_‘We’? What do you mean, ‘we’? Who did all the work?_

“…It’s-zzz time to move on to the next step.”

The snake became quite disillusioned when he realized he wasn’t even going to be mentioned.

“Humans-zzz now have free will, and since they’ve been exiled from the Garden of Eden, they’re now within our grasp-zzz.  In other words-zzz, we easily can take over their soul-zzz. Soon they will breed, and then there’ll be many humans-zzz. Our Master must have as many soul-zzz as possible to increase-zzz his power, and he has authorizzzed me to recruit a field agent to assist-zzz in this endeavor. This agent will be our Permanent Field Officer on Earth. Are there any volunteers-zzz?”

Oh. My. G… It was a last-minute reprieve; an unexpected opportunity. He’d caught a brief look at the Earth before he’d slipped into the Garden. He’d departed with regret when he’d had to return to Hell after his mission was complete. Ever since, he’d felt as if he’d missed out by leaving behind all those wonderful novelties: hundreds of creatures to discover, myriad colors and sensations, the endless landscape to explore… and most importantly, there were no other demons to torment him and constantly remind him of what he’d become. An electric thrill ran through him from his head to the tip of his tail. However, he cautiously decided to wait and see. 

One clawed hand was raised.

“Ligur? Perfect.”

“No, no! I just have a few questions!” Ligur quickly rectified.

Beelzebub sighed and gestured for him to speak.

“Does the job come with a title?”

“No.”

The room filled with disappointed murmurs that ceased immediately when the Lord of the Flies gave them a menacing glare. Ligur hesitated a bit before asking his next question.

“Will the deployment to Earth be forever?”

“What part of ‘Permanent’ do you not understand, Ligur?”

The berated demon gulped as Beelzebub continued, “The agent will only return to Hell if recalled. And he’ll only be recalled if he doesn’t properly perform his duties-zzz. In other words-zzz, he should have no dezzzire to see Hell again. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Your Eminence,” responded Ligur subserviently.

“The only exception will be a temporary return in case-zzz of discorporation.”

“’Discorporation,’ my Lord?” queried a Duke.

“Did you really think we’d send a demon in its true form, you idiots-zzz? We intend to corrupt the humans-zzz by living alongside them. Obviously, the agent will receive a human body.”

The demons exchanged looks of disgust.

“Wait. I see that Ligur has _another_ question.”

The Duke looked embarrassed. In a hesitant voice, he asked, “How much does it pay, your Lordship?”

Beelzebub mentioned a comfortable, but not exorbitant, amount. He concluded, “Here’s-zzz what we want: someone who is adaptable, quick to learn, and smooth-spoken. We don’t yet know very much about humans-zzz and how best to corrupt them. We will capitalizzze on free will but, as long as He has a say, only within the limits defined by the Old Man. We need someone who izzz creative and proactive. And unless you already know how to correctly fill out reports, don’t even bother to apply.”

His haughty gaze swept over the assembly.

“Now, I have better things to do than read cover letters so, as qualified candidates present themselves-zzz, I’ll make my decision after a preemptory job interview.”

No rational demon of ambition would propose themselves for the position. Once on Earth, they’d have no subordinates, and rank would be meaningless. As Beelzebub scowled, some trembling minor demons felt obliged to raise their hands – or equivalent appendages.

The serpent struggled against a furious desire to jump up, raise _his_ hand high, and shout, “Me!” First of all, he didn’t have hands, or legs and feet to jump up. Next, he knew perfectly well what would happen if he showed too much enthusiasm. Hastur would gleefully prevent him from getting the job just to revel in his disappointment and humiliation.

He spotted the Duke, and when his superior vaguely turned in his direction, the serpent quivered just a little bit, just enough to draw attention. He pretended to be staring at the stage, but from the corner of his eye he was watching the Duke’s reaction. He noticed when Hastur threw him an angry look. From the duke’s expression, he knew Hastur was thinking about how to make the snake pay for having the audacity to be seated at the same level as him. The serpent pretended to not notice anything and curled up with an anxious air. Everything in his demeanor expressed a desire to be overlooked by Beelzebub, who was preparing to write down the names of the four demons who had reluctantly volunteered. A cunning gleam shone in Hastur’s eyes.

“How’s about we send dear Crawly?” he exclaimed loudly with a malicious grin.

The four hands were lowered immediately, and four faint sighs of relief were heard. Beelzebub narrowed his eyes to see who had spoken.

“Hastur. Go on.”

“Why should Your Excellency waste his valuable time with job interviews when we have a demon who has already demonstrated his aptitude for the job? He’s more qualified than any of us: he has already succeeded in tempting the humans!” the Duke cajolingly exclaimed.

Actually, after Crawly had returned from his mission, Hastur had spat upon him and said, “Don’t go around thinking you’ve accomplished something evil just because you convinced a stupid woman to eat some fruit!” Behind his façade of despair, Crawly fully recognized the irony of the situation. Even more so when his superior unceremoniously grabbed him and lifted him high before Beelzebub.

The latter thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

“That’s-zzz not a bad idea, Hastur. I would have preferred a more powerful demon, but since they are not beating down the doors-zzz… I would just choose-zzz someone, but my Superior has insisted the demon must be someone who would take the task to heart. Crawly, are you interested in the pozzzition?”

The Duke squeezed him harder and hissed through his teeth, “You’d better say yes, you nasty little upstart. You’ll never become a Duke on Earth, but if I ever see you conniving behind my back, I’ll make sure you regret it until the end of Time.”

The serpent nodded respectfully before Beelzebub.

“Yes, Your Eminence, I am interested.” In spite of Hastur’s strangling grip, he managed to sound both confident, to convince Beelzebub, and reluctant, to assure Hastur. It was all in the inflection. 

“Good. Then it’s settled!” proclaimed the Lord of the Flies with evident desire to be done with it. “Hastur, let him go; he needs to follow me to my office **.** ”

The Duke released his grip and dropped Crawly painfully to the ground. Shaking it off, he hurried after Beelzebub, who, with his files under his arm, was already walking away. Beelzebub called back, “You’ll have to choose a body; then we’re sending you straight to Earth.”

Behind him, the snake could hear several demons snickering, Hastur among them. He no longer cared. Rejoicing, he thought, _Here’s hoping we never meet again, you bunch of losers!_


	2. Reassignment

Aziraphale had been nervously waiting for a quarter of an hour outside the door to the Metatron’s office. The angels passing him in the corridor gave him sympathetic but embarrassed glances – the type that imply, “I empathize, but I’m _so_ glad I’m not in your shoes.” Oh, he obviously had a slight idea why he’d been summoned. He suspected he hadn’t yet heard the last of the story he’d given about his missing sword. He was prepared to receive a slap on the wrist and adopt a contrite attitude promising to pay more attention next time.

The door abruptly opened and God’s spokesperson motioned to him to enter and sit, taking the seat across from him. He briefly reviewed the contents of a folder on his desk, then closed it and regarded the angel with his eternally impervious air. After an interminable moment, he placed his elbows on the desk, formed his fingertips to a perfect triangle, and took a deep breath.

“We have been instructed to tell you about your new assignment.”

Aziraphale had been absorbed in contemplating the folder on which he could read his name upside-down, and thought he’d misunderstood. It wasn’t exactly the lecture he’d expected. He looked up at his interlocutor.

The senior angel blandly continued, “You do understand that, without tools of the trade, you cannot remain at your post.  How could you effectively guard the Eastern Gate without your flaming sword?”

This total lack of intonation was really quite disconcerting. And his habit of expressing oneself as ‘we’! No wonder so many angels amused themselves by imitating him. Of course, only after carefully checking that he was not in the vicinity.

“But… eh, isn’t it possible to issue me another one?”

“Do you think we make them by snapping our fingers?”

Aziraphale bowed his head.

“Management has decided to use your skills to serve in a completely different capacity, and a new position has just been created that will fit them perfectly. We need someone to watch over the humans now wandering the Earth. We know that our competitors have sent them an agent charged with tempting and corrupting their souls. You will have the task of thwarting this agent’s wiles, within the limits defined by this document that you will review as soon as possible. You will find the details concerning your salary and expenses in the appendix.”

He deposited a bound document of at least three to four hundred pages in front of Aziraphale. This was all happening too fast!

“What do you mean by ‘thwarting his wiles’? I am a warrior! Just let me borrow a sword for a few minutes and I’ll soon make quick work of this demon.” 

“Out of the question. Despite the fact it would be counter-productive – they’d just send another one – it is imperative that this agent remains alive. We insist upon it. You may momentarily discorporate him if it’s absolutely necessary, but you cannot use any means of permanent destruction. Article 1, paragraph 3.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why?”

The Metatron narrowed his eyes.

“It’s ineffable,” he replied with finality. “Find more subtle ways to counter him.”

The angel protested, “In that case, this isn’t a job for a cherub!”

“Ah. Yes. We have forgotten to clarify that point. We have had to make a slight change in your rank.”

“What do you mean?”

For the first time, the Metatron appeared embarrassed and cleared his throat.

“Hmm. Well… a third sphere has been created for dealing directly with humans.”

“A third? But… do you mean… _below_ the first and second spheres?”

“Obviously.”

“I’m _demoted?”_ Aziraphale squeaked.

“We are sorry…”

_Like sure you’re sorry!_

“… but a cherub without a flaming sword – it’s unprecedented.”

“Okay. I admit I made a mistake, it’s true. Just tell me what I can do to redeem myself and…”

“Come now, don’t see this as a punishment. Consider it a new beginning. An… opportunity,” said the Metatron in a mollifying tone.

_Yeah, right._

“And besides, you’ll still have a rank: that of Principality.”

It sounded very much like an invented title fabricated to make the pill less bitter to swallow. Some consolation. No sooner had the Metatron made this pronouncement than Aziraphale felt his true form _change._

His confusion must have been apparent on his face, for the spokesperson said, “Hierarchical changes are naturally accompanied by certain physical transformations. For example, you now have only one pair of wings.  Not that you should worry too much about it because, of course, you’ll also receive a human body.”

“WHAT?” yelped the angel.

“You have to remain undercover. Which is your preference?”

“My… my preference?”

“Male or female?”

How could this all of this have happened in only ten minutes of discussion? Surely it was a joke, right? Aziraphale stared at his interlocutor. The Metatron regarded him indifferently. This guy had probably never made a joke in his life.

The angel stammered, “But… but I’m not sure. Don't I get to think about it?”

“There isn’t time.”

“How do you expect me to choose? You know very well angels don’t have gender!”

“What do you want us to say to you? You’re about to get one. _Now_.”

They’d really decided to humiliate him. All of this because of a ‘lost’ sword. Unless… they _knew_ what had really happened. _Heck._

The official sighed. “Listen, as you can imagine, it’s no picnic making bodies without genitals. If you don’t like them, remember the adage that ‘angels are sexless.’ Your body will never be anything more than a work outfit, after all. If it really bothers you, you can use your powers to make the attributes disappear. However, we strongly advise against it. You must resemble a human as much as possible, and who can say in what involuntary situation of promiscuity you might find yourself?”

Aziraphale suddenly felt like crying.

“So?” insisted the Metatron, showing a rare moment of impatience.

In theory, angels are not capable of feeling hatred, but there can always be a first time.

“Would it be possible for me to have an interview with Him? This might be a misunderstanding…” began Aziraphale.

“Our job is to be the Voice of God. There is _never_ any misunderstanding. Surely you are not accusing us of incompetence, we should hope?” the Metatron replied in tone of dry finality.

The angel sat back down in his chair and said in a small voice, “I think I would feel more comfortable in a female body. Please.”

“We’ll see what we have,” announced the Metatron as he got up and left the room.

 

Once he was alone, Aziraphale no longer attempted to contain his anxiety. He squirmed in his seat, hoping that at any moment, someone would come in and proclaim it had all been a tragic mistake. He glared at the folder abandoned on the desk. _Could he…no!_ Curiosity is a bad thing. It would be an action utterly unworthy of an angel. And he’d already done enough foolish things. He folded his hands firmly in his lap and forced himself to look elsewhere.

Even so, there had to be something in the folder that explained such a disproportionate penalty. There was no sound coming from the hallway. Just a quick peek. Who would know?

He leaned forward and, with a trembling hand, spun the folder around and opened it, skimming through the first few pages.

There was little mention of the sword incident. Fragments of sentences jumped to his eyes: _poses too many questions… dangerous to leave in contact with his colleagues… potential risk for a second mass rebellion… subject to be removed as soon as possible…_

He choked back an exclamation. _This_ was why? But, of course, he had questions! Had he done something wrong by giving his sword to the humans? What's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway? And besides, that serpent had muddled his thoughts. He never should have listened to him.

At the back of the folder, a bright yellow cardstock file caught his attention. It was labeled _Ineffable Plan._ Aziraphale hesitated. Glanced toward the door. Listened. Then pulled the sole sheet of paper from the file. Certain words in the text were written in bigger letters, and underlined twice. He only had time to read _has been in contact with the Serpent_ , _influence,_ and _crucial role_ before hearing the Metatron greeting Gabriel out in the hallway.

He quickly put the sheet back into the folder and the folder into the file, then returned the assemblage back to its exact place on the desk. He assumed a neutral expression as the Metatron re-entered the office.

“We are terribly sorry,” said the latter. “We only have male models left in stock. As it turns out, there wasn’t much of a choice. So your opinion wasn’t very important after all, was it?”

Aziraphale wasn’t listening. So, _He_ was aware of his interaction with the demon. Suddenly, everything was clearer. It had never been a question of a lost sword. Even his reservations were probably being used as pretext. After all, _he_ had not started a revolution. No, his real mistake had been speaking with the demon instead of smiting him. And then he’d told himself that the evil had already been done. And that the snake was only following orders. And, after all, he was rather courteous for a demon. And… oh whatever. In retrospect, this decision now appeared rather stupid to him.

“You may go into the room next door. We will then be sending you to the place of your first assignment.”

Pulled from his reverie, the angel was startled.

“My _first_ assignment? But… how long will I be stationed on Earth?”

“Just until the end of Time, of course. Did we forget to mention that?” said the Metatron in a dispassionate voice.

_The bastard._


	3. Getting Started

Crawly opened his eyes only to close them again, blinded by the overhead sun. Beneath his palms, the grass tingled pleasantly. He wiggled a bit to take measure of his new body. It was very different. He pointedly ignored the feel of the tunic with which he’d been dressed, but soon an infinite number of other sensations prevailed. He felt the caress of a warm breeze against his skin. He breathed in the fresh smell of the dirt and the meadow. He heard the rustle of leaves and the chirp of birds. An insect buzzed near his ear. The heat baked him in an utterly pleasurable manner.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes. Wispy white clouds traversed the deep blue sky. Crawly turned his head to look around. Everything looked so new. Fresh. Gleaming. It was almost as beautiful as the Garden of Eden. Perhaps the colors were a bit less brilliant; the shapes a bit less perfect. This was even better. One quickly gets tired of perfection.

He didn’t stand up quite yet. He remained motionless. Suddenly amazed at his freedom, he began to laugh aloud like a madman, initially surprised by the sound of his own voice. He was unable to stop before his voice became hoarse.

The sky turned orange and then soft pink. The stars appeared one by one. The demon stretched before finally deciding to get up. He leaned first on one foot, then the other, hesitant and awkward. He hadn’t always been a snake, but none of his previous forms, angelic or demonic, had been configured like this. Each movement required purposeful effort. An interplay of muscles. A sense of balance. He was so focused that he soon discovered he’d forgotten to breathe. It really didn’t matter. As he’d been informed - air, food, water - he didn’t need any of them. This body was nothing but camouflage. He was still a demon.

He resolutely took a deep breath.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It was pouring down rain. As he felt each one of the large drops pummel the human skin he now inhabited, Aziraphale felt cramped. All his angelic power was now confined to the corporate limits of this body. And it wasn’t the body he’d have chosen _if_ he’d been given a choice. It was solid, but a bit too heavy to easily move around. He wondered if he’d get used to it one day.

Shivering, he took shelter under a tree. The tunic he’d been provisioned was meager protection against the dampness that chilled him to the bone. He’d never been cold before, and he had to clamp his teeth to keep them from chattering.

He gazed over his surroundings. Everything looked grey and colorless. Oh, of course this was the Lord’s creation and that certainly made it wonderful, but it didn’t had the incomparable perfection that had made the Garden of Eden a paradise.

How far away it now seemed; that time when he’d guarded the path to the Tree of Life. He never thought he’d regret it. It had been a boring and, at many times, lonely job. But at least he’d often been in contact with colleagues with whom he could speak. Who could guess how long it’d be now before he’d see another angel?

Even if, to be honest, the most interesting conversation he’d had during that time was with the serpent.

He clenched his jaw a bit tighter, remembering the price he was paying for that discussion. This is what it had led to. Exiled, alone, stuck in this stupid body… and frozen. All this because of a demon who had surely earned a commendation upon his return to Hell. He was probably still laughing, thinking about the idiocy of the angel that had allowed him to escape.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Concealed by dense foliage, Crawly watched the woman and her two children from afar. She was plucking the feathers off a wildfowl while they took turns playing a game. When Crawly had tracked down Adam and Eve shortly after his arrival on Earth a year ago, he’d been surprised to find them in the company of two young boys. He didn’t think he’d been in Hell _that_ long after returning from the Garden. But Down Below, time did not exist. Clearly, several years had passed in the meantime. He’d felt vaguely uneasy about how worn and old Eve looked. “You will give birth in pain. You will eat bread by the sweat of your brow.” _What a load of crap! And talk about holding grudge, Old Man!_

The demon remained on guard. Before initiating contact with the humans, he’d first wanted to spend some time observing them. He was never bored. Every day the humans invented a new object or useful technique. It was exciting to watch. Crawly developed an understanding of how they reasoned and what motivated them, and he started thinking about how he could fulfill his mission. He found the elder of the boys, Cain, to be quite promising.

Crawly relaxed after confirming Adam’s absence from the camp. The man was probably either still working in the field or gathering wood. A few days earlier, he’d had almost caught Crawly by surprise and, in a panic, the demon had reflexively resumed his reptilian form and hidden behind some rocks. It had been hours before he’d been able to transform back and he’d been afraid he’d forgotten how to do it. Of course, he sometimes missed his serpent-form, but this new body, which he’d chosen for its litheness and agility (even if those qualities did not quite match those of his former form), was far from unpleasant to wear once one got used to it.  And it was going to offer him so many more possibilities for deceiving his prey. It was unfortunate that he’d retained his reptilian eyes but, in spite of all his efforts, his powers were unable to fix this problem.

One thing was certain: he now had every reason in the world to change his name. He mulled over this thought while absent-mindedly watching the children.

He swore when a disconcerting yet familiar aura made him lose the quite pleasant name he’d just come up with. He froze as he identified the sensation. _Angel._ He should have suspected the competition would not allow him free rein for long. Crawly fought to deter the scales that had already started to pop up in various places on his skin. _Not this time._ He silently slipped away through the trees, hoping that the Enemy had not yet spotted him.

But the angelic aura did not lessen. It seemed to be following him. The demon quickened his pace, searching for a place to hide. It was out of the question to risk discorporation and be sent back Down. Suddenly, he identified the prickly sensation that had been bothering him for the past few minutes. This particular aura was not unknown to him. He slowed down, then stopped.

Evidently, his streak of luck was continuing. Of all the angels in heaven, they’d decided to send _him?_ The only one who hadn’t regarded him with contempt and disgust prior to trying to kill him? In his fading memories from before the Fall, angels were boring and full of certainty. But this one – the demon could not recall his name; had he mentioned it? – would make quite acceptable company.

Crawly turned around and waited. He tried to assume a nonchalant air. Finally, he might have found someone who could quell his unspoken yearning to be understood.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Aziraphale had only needed two days to find the place where the humans had settled. He’d first located Adam, who was busily taking advantage of the waning daylight to dig at a small plot of land. Then the angel had discreetly approached the rustic encampment a few hundred meters away. How much easier their lives would have been if they’d only followed the rules! At least they hadn’t yet been devoured by a vicious animal, and the thought that his sword might have had something to do with that cheered him. As he spotted the two children, he wondered how many years his Enemy had already been here, getting a head start in corruption.

As if in echo to his thought, he sensed a demonic aura nearby. It was time to get to work. When he tried to seek it out, the aura seemed to retreat. He followed it, determined to see what the being against whom he had to fight looked like.

A silhouette seemed to be waiting for him, leaning against a tree. He took a few cautious but determined steps in that direction, regretting the fact that he hadn’t taken the time to arm himself. But the other being also appeared unarmed, and not very strong. He had an oddly familiar demeanor. As Aziraphale drew closer to the demon, he was shocked to recognize his eyes.

 _That cursed serpent!_ Everything was _his_ fault, yet he still had the impudence to display a delighted smile. The angel clenched his fists. He was going to make him swallow that arrogance.

He had no difficulty making the demon, who didn’t even have time to react, bite the dust. The angel rubbed his knuckles while the demon, stunned on the ground, wiped his hand across his nose before incredulously staring at the blood smeared across it. Aziraphale noticed with satisfaction that his smile had disappeared.

Aziraphale was not, however, particularly proud of himself. He had let himself be consumed by his own resentment. A totally unprofessional attitude. But, he had to admit, the incident had certainly allowed him to let off some steam.

 

Crawly jumped up and glared at his opponent. With a wave of his hand, he reset the bones of his nose and stopped the bleeding. He was not able to restrain his question or the querulous tone of his voice. “Why?”

“Consider it a warning. The next time I find you lurking around the humans, planning any of your dirty wiles, I’ll send you back to the hole you came from.”

“Listen, it’s just a job; we don’t have to…”

“Don’t wear yourself out. I won’t make the mistake of listening to _you_ again and risk something worse than being condemned to live on this planet.”

How had Crawly misjudged this narrow-minded and pretentious angel? He was as thick as all the others.

“Condemned? Ssstupid angel! If you only looked around yourssself, you’d underssstand how lucky you are! Life here is a thousssand timesss more interesssting than… “

“Don’t waste your breath, demon.”

Crawly hesitated, but the angel’s cold stare convinced him he really was wasting his breath. So he wanted to play like that? So be it. But the game would be by _his_ rules, which certainly didn’t mention having to battle face-to-face. He slunk into the shadows that were beginning to envelop the woods, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of his own blood.

 

Aziraphale didn’t approach near the encampment until he was certain the demon was far away. Adam had returned and lit a fire, the flames of which flickered in the darkness. He was busy roasting the gamebird prepared by Eve, and this delicious smell made the angel’s mouth water. He didn’t need to eat, but it might be interesting to try it one day.

For now, hidden close by, he paid special attention to the mother and her two children. The young ones, seated in front of her, drank in her words. She was telling stories: why the sun and the moon followed each other across the sky, how a tiny seed could become a gigantic tree, why birds could fly, and snakes had no legs… For certain these stories were false and fanciful. Ridiculous, in a sense. Yet the angel could not help but be captivated by them. It was as if humans, in order to interpret the divine Creation and their place in it, had had to create narratives. It was simply fascinating.

Sitting in the dark, his eyes fixed on the glowing campfire, Aziraphale had to admit, against his will, that the demon might not be entirely wrong. It was entirely possible that he might end up liking a few things about this planet.


End file.
